


Dude, Where's My Dog?

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lone Wanderer wakes up after activating the purifier. Butch is waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dude, Where's My Dog?

Waking up from a coma to blinding artificial light was much more relaxing than she thought it would be, probably because it reminded her of Vault 101. Butch was even there, slouched asleep in the corner, though he looked much different since he had met Mother Wasteland. His hair was ragged, complexion darker, and dirt ground into his beloved jacket.

Erin sat up and glanced around. If it weren't for the Brotherhood of Steel banner pinned to the wall behind her, she wouldn't have known where she was. But why...?

Oh. Purifier. Right.

Honestly, she hadn't expected to survive that, especially not when she guessed the code wrong- twice. She'd even given the whole "don't forget me, finish the Enclave, take care of Dogmeat or I'll haunt your ass" speech to Butch. Speaking of Butch...

She stood from the bed on disobedient legs and stumbled over to his corner. Well, the opportunity was there, and if she was going to wake him up, she might as well make it fun (and damn if she was going to let lethal radiation poisoning change anything). Bracing her hand against the wall, she lowered her shaking body to straddle his lap. The Lone Wanderer gently threaded his oddly uncoiffed hair through her fingers, then latched on, yanking him forward to crash against her lips.

Well, that woke him.

The Wasteland had changed him- his first reflex was for his gun (which was discarded on the floor safely out of reach) instead of the switchblade in his pocket. By the time it occurred to him to search for either, he's realized what was going on and began to work his lips against hers, if not a bit too eagerly. _Far_ too eagerly when his hands found her breasts through the thin tank top she had been stripped down to.

Much more reciprocation than she expected, but alright. Though, when his lips moved to her neck, she couldn't help but taunt him a little. After all, what else would he expect from her? "I wake up from a coma, and this is the greeting I get? Not that I mind..."

He snorted. "I know how this dream goes, 'Doc'. I've had it four times."

The brunette pushed him back against the wall at that. "I'm real, Butch."

He didn't react- didn't believe her. Erin pouted.

"Come on, do I need to prove it?"

No response, just sadness in his eyes.

"My name is Erin Michelle Holt. I love exploring old vaults. Centaurs weird me out. You used to call me Nosebleed until I gave you one." She giggled for that; he wasn't impressed. "Okay... Oh! You call me Doc because I patched you up after that nasty fight you got into with the stairs." she teased.

"Listen... I've spent enough time with Doc that I can diagnose my own goddamn dreams, okay? I don't need some projection of her to tell me I miss her." He chuckled sadly, hands resting on her hips. "Look at me, talking to myself. I used to call her crazy for that..."

"I know. I was there." How could she make him believe her? An idea struck, and she lifted up her shirt to just under her breasts, revealing every scar that criss-crossed her stomach- claw marks, melee weapon gashes, burns. She pointed to a small white line (old, older than the rest) on the left of her centreline. "You gave me this one."

He shook his head, like she expected him to. Good. "You were kind of a punching bag, but nothing that would scar."

"Hey, I gave as good as I got!" she reminded, and he couldn't argue. "Remember when we got royally pissed at each other because I caught you with Susie Mack and you didn't see why it was a big deal?"

He nodded. "Then we had that huge fight, and I pulled my knife, yeah. Sorry..."

"You've said that before," she reminded, "and you only did because I nearly cracked you skull on the table."

"Thank God your dad walked in. I would've killed you, Doc... But you said I didn't even scratch you with it."

"I lied, to save face. It's my oldest real scar, you know, and you gave it to me. Which reminds me, where in hell is my dog?"

He started smiling.

"What?"

Butch's arms wrapped around her back and pulled her to his chest, head resting in the crook of her neck. "I was worried you weren't gonna wake up, Doc. Wasn't sure if you _wanted_ to, with that speech you gave me."

"Of course I want to live, Butch. I just didn't want you to feel sorry for me." she muttered against his ear, then pulled away, locking eyes with him. He was smiling, actually _smiling_ \- not smirking in lust, or grinning with a fed ego, but smiling in genuine happiness. She had caused that. "But there's something more important..."

She rested her hand lightly on his neck. "You still haven't told me where the _fuck_ my dog is."


End file.
